


Bizarre Love Quad

by faint_of_hearts



Category: Political RPF - UK 20th-21st c.
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-24
Updated: 2015-05-23
Packaged: 2018-03-31 22:14:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3994906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faint_of_hearts/pseuds/faint_of_hearts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One of the first things I started writing for Lolitics. I kind of lost steam with it and left it unfinished ,but I still really like the idea of the Milibands/Osbornes</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Alcohol can not be blamed. Between the three of them, they shared 2 bottles of an excellent red. The amount is enough to cause George to doze off, while the conversation continued with Justine and Frances. Frances refilled the glasses and Justine can’t help but to admire her friend’s sleeping husband. His dark hair is long enough to have a few errant curls frame his face. His lips are a deeper red than usual, probably stained by the wine. Would she be able to taste the wine if she kissed him? Would his soft hazel eyes fly wide open if she licked the exposed curve of his neck to his subtly muscled shoulder? Before any other thoughts can enter her depraved mind, Frances returned with two glasses of water. 

“Like what you see?” She said as she passed the glass to Justine. 

“What? Posh Spice? Never.” 

“Denial isn’t just a river. I don’t mind if you fancy him. It’s kind of hot.” The silence that followed held just a touch of awkwardness. Justine chugged about half of the glass of water, then was planning to leave. Frances caught her wrist. 

“Do you want to?” Her eyes glanced over at George’s sleeping form. “It would be just like Belize.” 

“We can’t. We’re friends Fran, I don’t want that to be ruined.” 

“Belize didn’t ruin us.”

“That was different. You weren’t married to him.” 

Frances slid closer to Justine. Soft touches and lips ghosting over her lips and cheeks lulled Justine into a sense of security. Justine allowed Fran’s fingers to pull her closer, as she leaned over, whispering, “You should have seen the show he put on last night. The best part was when he came, moaning your name like a whore.” Before Justine could move away, Frances pulled her into a hug and kissed her. 

“Just one night, Justine.” She murmured against Justine’s lips. “Nothing will change.” 

She should have left then. The wine wasn’t to blame, but it was the social lubricant, a key opening many doors to things that should stay locked. “Nothing will change?” 

“I promise.”

“I don’t want you to hate me.” 

“That would never happen.” 

It would have been easy to slip out the front door, but Justine climbed the stairs to the bedroom. She followed Fran’s instructions and stripped. She folded her clothes and placed the pile on one of the dressers. She felt vulnerable and sat perched on their bed. As she waited on their marital bed, second thoughts began to rear their ugly head again. The 5 minutes felt more like 5 hours and Justine almost gave in to the reservations she felt. Then standing awkward and naked by her neatly folded pile of clothing, George and Frances stumbled into the room, groping and kissing each other. 

In unison their shirts are peeled off. Any hair that wasn't mussed before is now. Justine could see so much of his skin and a moan escapes her lips as she watches George bury his head against Frances’ breasts. She was smirking and beckoned Justine over to them. It was 1999 and for all they knew the world could end with Y2K. The second thoughts vanished. 

Fran pulled Justine’s naked body to her. Their eyes met, as Justine placed her fingertips against Frances’ cheeks. Justine’s thumb traced across her lips softly. She felt the skin prickle on her skin as Frances’ shallow slow breaths moved across her hand. Justine moved her hand under Fran’s chin. She tilted her head slightly, smiling as she watched Frances wet her lips in anticipation. Her eyes fluttered closed as Justine brushed her lips across hers. Justine licked the other woman’s upper lip; eventually she forced her tongue past Frances’ lips. She moaned as their tongues met, swirling around it in a playful dance. Justine’s teeth tugged playfully on Frances' lower lip as she pulled back. 

Another pair of hands touched Justine’s shoulder, squeezing lightly to demand her attention. Justine turns around facing him, and then into the traditional slow-dance pose: her arms circle up around his neck, his hands slid from shoulders to her waist. 

Uncertain, George made the first move; a kiss. His lips were soft, his teeth were rough, and for a moment all Justine could do was hold his face as he immersed himself in the softness of her lips and mouth. His hips rocked against her and she could feel his erection. 

Justine broke the kiss as she went down on her knees. Her hands pushed down his boxer shorts. Her hand slid down his length, gently pushing back the foreskin. She repeated the motion, and then flicked her tongue against the pre-come forming on the tip of his cock. 

“You tease…” George whispered.

Justine’s lips parted and slowly slid down the length until she felt him hit the back of her throat. His hand became tangled in her hair as he pressed on the back of her head. 

“Justine...” He murmured as his fingers fluttered against her scalp, encouraging her to continue. Justine’s head bobbed as her mouth and tongue worked over his cock. Her hands gripped against his toned ass.

Justine thought he was close to the edge but before she could finish the blow job, she felt nails in her scalp and was pulled away. She glanced up and Frances was towered over her, stroking a blue strap-on dildo. The dildo pressed against Justine’s lips and she began to enthusiastically mimic the blow job she just gave to George. 

She heard a frustrated sigh from George and then was taken to the bed. Justine fell back on the mattress. Before she could protest his hands began to tease, tormenting her sensitive clit. Justine writhed and moaned, clutching at dark curls as he dipped his tongue between her legs. She wasn’t usually a big fan of cunnilingus but fuck. Good with his hands, and his mouth. Her skin crawled with pleasure as he worked her over with his lips and tongue and just a little bit of teeth.

A litany of nonsense poured from Justine, her hips rolled with the sensations George was providing and then it stopped. She opened her eyes and almost came from the sight of Frances scissoring her fingers in and out of his arse. Justine watched as Frances applied lube to the blue strap-on. In a swift flick of her hips,   
she was in him and he begged for Frances to fuck him. 

George's hands clutched the bedsheets on either side of Justine’s hips. Justine’s fingers continued to move against her clit, watching the show before her. Frances curled her hand around his cock. Justine whimpered as she felt her body quiver around her digits. She watched as George’s lips formed a silent “o” shape, his eyelids were shut tight. His muscles were tensed, quivering against the mattress as his orgasm took him silently. 

Justine tried to leave, but two pairs of arms wrapped around her, around one another and everything became still.

Someone is stroking her hair and it startles her awake. The sensation is pleasant and out of reflex she leans into the slender fingers. Her brain feels fuzzy and her body overheated. The brocade drapes let a sliver of pale morning into the unfamiliar bedroom. Justine is confused and surrounded by two other naked bodies. A woman's arm is slung below her chest and Justine can feel a pair of breasts against her back. Justine's legs are entwined with a longer, more hairy and definitely more male pair. She moves one of her legs and the fingers stop carding through her hair. It is like he can sense her confused panic and presses his lips to her forehead. Oh fuck, her brain kicks into action, flooding her senses with memories and possible regrets from last night.


	2. Chapter 2

July 1999

Their voices drifted softly out of the kitchen and Justine tiptoed over to where her bag and shoes were haphazardly tossed by the entryway. The smell of bacon and eggs tempted her to go to the kitchen and confront what just happened. Frances promised that things would be able to revert to normal. The thing was Justine wasn’t sure she wanted that. She could easily admit that there was always a spark of something between her and Frances but when George was added to the mix Justine felt conflicted. One night just wasn’t enough. 

She opened the front door with caution, hoping not to make a sound. She should just write coward across her forehead in big, bright yellow letters. Justine practically sprinted away once outside. If the Osbornes heard her leave, she was grateful they did not pursue.

Justine let the phone ring. After several rings the machine clicked to answer. Out of all the phone calls, Frances left a solitary message. 

“This is so not how I remember things happening after Belize.” She chuckled, “Look get in touch when you’ve thought things through. I think there is more to this than what the three of us assumed.” 

Justine didn’t mean to let her response to lapse for weeks. Her law briefs were not going to read themselves. She knocked on the door and felt butterflies exploding in her stomach. It was late; she ignored the pair for weeks. Justine assumed she would not receive a warm welcome. It took a few minutes but the door opened. George answered, looking out of sorts in a t-shirt and running shorts. 

“I’m sorry. I wanted to…” 

“Its 1am” He cut her off and ushered her through the door. 

“You’re right. It’s too late for me to be here. I shouldn’t have….”

“I was up anyway. Working on some things for William.” 

“Where’s Frances?” 

“Sleeping.” Awkward silence fell. “Why are you here, Justine?” 

“I’m sorry, I’ve been a twat. I’m sorry I didn’t come by sooner. I just wanted to explain, to talk about what happened.” It sounded better in her head. “You really don’t need to deal with this at this hour.” She moved to leave and was blocked. Unable to resist the allure of George in just a t-shirt and running shorts, she kissed him, thrilled when he kissed back. 

He pulled away, “Not without Frances.” 

She nodded in agreement. 

“Let’s go to bed.”

She followed George up the stairs. She went to go into the guest room and a puzzled look flashed across his face. 

“What are you doing?”

“Going to bed.” 

Rolling his eyes, George grabbed her wrist and pulled her toward the master bedroom. “With us, Justine.” 

It’s gentle and non-seductive the way he eases her out of her clothing. The finishing touch is him dressing her in one of his t-shirts; Tory blue and smelling of his cologne. 

Justine sank between George and Frances. Frances stirred and snuggled closer to her. “Justine?”

“Yeah. I’m sorry it took me a while.” 

“S’ok. You’re here now.” 

Dec 99/Jan 00

George gasped, sharply, as Frances’ deft lips play across his stomach. Justine’s hands are pressed against his back, tight and close. He is bathed in faint light and Justine is convinced he is Adonis reborn. Frances’ gentle mouth teased across the inside of his thigh, making him quiver; before taking his cock in her hand. George whimpered, as Justine slips a careful finger inside of him. Feeling him tremble, she begins to slide a second finger into him. 

“Yeah Justine. Like that.” Fran encouraged. 

Justine doesn’t think she’ll ever find another arrangement so perfect and filthy.

May 2000

Fran and George are not what Justine thought they would be. Each time they make love, she is surprised. The depth of George’s need for her is shocking. And it never crossed her mind that Frances would grab her, to prevent her from sneaking away in the night. She didn’t expect that they would have brief holidays together. Justine didn’t think she would become so attached, she couldn’t bear to go back to her empty flat.

October 2000

The weight redistributed across the mattress. Normally Justine would have been able to fall back asleep, but the sound of someone emptying the contents of their stomach kept her awake. She crawled out of the empty bed and crossed over to the en suite. George hovered over Frances, holding her hair back. His other hand stroked her back in broad circles. 

“She’s all right, Justine. Go back to bed.” It sounded so goddamn patronizing. 

“What’s going on? Was it dinner? The chicken did seem kind of off.” 

“We were going to tell you tomorrow over breakfast.” Frances peeked up, smiling while looking pale and clammy. “I’m pregnant.” 

The words wounded her. She didn’t even know they were trying for kids. Justine felt hurt, wondering why her partners didn’t consult her about this. She turned back to the bedroom and gathered her clothing. For the first time since the whole affair started, she slept in the guest bedroom. 

January 2001 

She slapped his hand away, regretting inviting George over to her flat. She can’t stand to look at him anymore.

“I thought you liked that.” 

“Maybe I’m bored.” She yawned. There just seemed to be something off with the whole relationship anymore. Sure all three of them agreed that the pregnancy and the baby wasn’t going to change things, but it did. Frances no longer participated in their trysts, which increased the sense of guilt Justine felt. In the beginning, their relationship was fun, something that amazed her. Now with the pregnancy and the increased precautions George enforced since he was on the campaign trail, Justine found herself falling out of love with the married couple. 

Hands skimmed over her stomach and his breath tickled her ear, “We don’t have to do this.” She hated how sad he sounded. She hated how she didn’t want to refuse the sex that was being offered. 

She pulled at his hair, demanding. He playfully slapped her cheek. He kissed her, hard; biting at her bottom lip and winding her hair through his fingers. She bit down on his shoulder; legs wrapped around his hips, and whispered, "Fuck me now.” Justine hoped it sounded encouraging, sensual. She cried out as George flipped her and pinned her to the mattress. Delicate fingers forced her head down on the pillow. Justine needed George to be cruel, as if his cruelty would drive her guilt away. 

Afterwards, as he tried to cuddle her, she pushed away. “You should go home to Fran.” 

For once the perpetual sneer was wiped from his lips and he looked betrayed and devastated. “What happened to us, Justine?”

“We shouldn’t do this anymore. Not without Frances.” She rose from the bed, “I’m going to shower.” The I hope you’re gone when I’m finished, is implied in her tone. 

March 2001

She decided to have Sunday dinner with George and Frances. It was almost a month since she last had a civil exchange with George. Frances was showing, the baby bump looking awkward on her slight frame. It wasn’t fair to Frances to play peace broker between them. With every conversation she began to wonder when it was that she started hating him and started feeling nothing but contempt for Frances. 

It’s when George started talking about the brilliance of David, another young Tory with interesting ideas that she snapped. 

“I can’t do this anymore.” Justine said. Frances watched on the sidelines as she sparred with George. Christ his need for her was pathetic, selfish. It was one thing when it was just the three of them, but for fucks sake, Frances was pregnant. Justine walked out in the middle of the argument. 

When Justine got back to her flat, she collapsed in the middle of floor and started to cry. Why can't we be ourselves like we were yesterday? The phrase from the New Order song was stuck on repeat in her mind. She can’t be sorry that it is over. There was nothing to save. 

August 2001

Frances forced her to confront the situation. She showed up with the baby at Justine’s flat one weekend. She hadn’t seen either of the Osbornes since the argument in March. She knew Frances would be the one to extend the olive branch. It couldn’t have been easy, being in the middle. 

“How are you doing?” 

“I’m fine. Busy with Luke. I think I’m going to start researching a book idea.” 

“I probably don’t have any right asking but….”

“He’s fine. The constituency is keeping him busy. He spent the first few weeks with me in hospital. Juggling mailbags and changing nappies.” 

“Posh, changing nappies? Please tell me you have pictures.” 

“You should visit sometime. You’ll get to see it first hand.” 

“I’m sorry. I don’t think I can. Not yet.” Justine apologized. 

“We just had a baby. The world didn’t end.” 

“No, but we did.” She frowned at the infant that Frances was holding. “He looks like George. Fuck, it is a Baby Posh Spice.” 

“Language, Justine.”

The two women exchanged smiles, and Justine knew that their friendship was going to survive. She just wasn’t sure where that left her and George.

********

The barista rolled her eyes. “You’re short a few pence.” 

Ed nodded and fumbled in his pockets for more money to pay her. The humour wasn’t lost on him and sounded like the beginning of a lame joke, ‘So a Treasury adviser went for a latte…’ The barista cleared her throat and he felt the eyes of the queue behind him beginning to stare. He raked his hand through his hair, flashing her what he hoped would be a charming smile.

“I don’t have it.” 

He thought he was going to receive death by coffee cup, if that was even possible. 

“Here this should cover it, yeah?” She was like a little pixie, with messy blonde hair and dimples. The barista was appeased and handed Ed the latte. He followed the pixie out onto the street. 

“Hey! Wait!” She looked up at him and paused. He shuffled them to side so sidewalk traffic could pass by. “Thank you. I’m Ed.” He held out his free hand. She looked puzzled and shook it.

“You’re welcome.” 

“Wait, don’t go, I owe you.” 

“It’s fine.” 

His felt his cheeks warm as he blurted out, “Debts are bad. How about dinner, tonight?”

“Tonight?”

“Well it doesn’t have to be tonight.” 

“Look, you’re an attractive bloke, but I don’t know anything about you, and you didn’t even have enough to pay for your drink.” 

“And you’re fishing for excuses. If you’re not interested that’s cool, but I appreciate what you did and you’re pretty cute too.” 

She shifted her weight and toyed with the large turquoise necklace, “I’m flattered, really. You just don’t seem like my type.” 

Ed chuckled and covered his face with his hand,” That is not fair. You don’t know me. For all you know, I could be the only one for you and here you are letting this chance pass you by.” 

She looked over him and shook her head. She reached into her bag and pulled out a small case. She opened it and took out an ivory business card. She pressed the card into Ed’s hand. “I can’t promise, I’ll say yes.” 

He followed her with his eyes before heading back to the Treasury, grinning like a loon. Ed was a very lucky guy.

2011

Ed was happy to let Justine have her past. There were times when she would try to explain what made her into who she was. Ed never let her. It wasn’t that he didn’t care, it just wasn’t important. She was with him now and that was all that mattered. Their past relationships were not brought up again.

It was a position Ed wished he could revisit. The renewed interest - the obsession - with her past started when Ed found the manila envelope of photographs and polaroids.

If one were to ask his opinion on triangles, Ed would say that triangles were beautiful. No one ever did, so his opinion stayed unvoiced. And when he thought about that, he thought it was a shame. Longing glances between two friends, poetic, angry letters from the friend's husband, this triangle was so beautiful it was painful. But then again, he was mocked for his love of Desperate Housewives so his tastes on what beauty is could be questioned.

At first Ed imagined the relationship as an equilateral triangle, all sides being equal coming together at 60 degree angles. But no, no...the three of them were too distinct. Isosceles would have two equal sides and he couldn't picture any of them submitting to be the unequal side. Scalene, it was a scalene relationship. All sides were unequal and angles appeared in different measures. As he poured through the photographs and the received missives from the Chancellor, it became clear that Frances was the base of the relationship.

It wasn't voyeurism. Voyeurism was cheap and dirty. This, this was a triangle trying to evolve into a Rubik's cube, and Ed was good with solving Rubik's cube.


	3. Unfinished Bits from my Fran/JThorn/George folder

When Frances arrived, Justine was already waiting for her on the balcony. She held a bottle of lager in one hand, offering it to Frances when she joined her. 

It began to rain and the typical drizzle transformed into a sudden squall. The girls stood on the balcony and watched the sky spill. Justine leaned against the railing and kicked her feet off the ground. Frances smiled, watching her friend indulge in a childish whim.

Raindrops splashed off the railing and the balustrade. Frances felt the cool splashes on her bare arms as she approached Justine, pulling her close for a kiss.

**

It is an open secret, but still Frances doesn’t divulge the details. He knows there is someone else, just like she knows about his extracurricular activities. She doesn’t ask about the marks on his arse, he doesn’t ask about Tuesday Night Book Club. 

Tuesdays belonged to her and Justine. 

**

The next morning arrived too soon and too bright for the trio. They started out on the couch, progressed to the floor, and then finally to the bed. Frances peeled back the bed sheet, surveying the room. Justine groaned as Fran’s movements shifted the mattress. She rolled over and buried her face into one of the feather pillows. 

“Turn the sunlight off.” was her muffled plea. 

“Fran, a little help?” George was still partially tied to the bed with one of his ties. She undid the knot and he rush to the bathroom. 

He took care of business and washed his hands in the basin. George paused when he noticed bite marks on his torso. The bite marks were in a pattern and he started to giggle.

When he returned to Frances and Justine, he asked. “Who’s idea was it to put a smiley face on my stomach?” 

They looked at his stomach, then back at each other before their laughter filled the room.


End file.
